


Death by Chips and Lips

by Kalee60



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60
Summary: Bruce’s life was complicated enough, so the last thing he needed was a distraction - especially in the shape of Clark Kent.How on Earth could a mere bag of potato chips undo years of repressed attraction?This was the reason Bruce didn’t snack.





	Death by Chips and Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All, just thought I’d dip my toe (in the smallest possible way) into the DC fandom. Superbats didn’t just catch my attention - it literally punched me repeatedly until I had devoured almost all the fictions, before Tumblr completely ruined me (don’t even get me started on that!) 
> 
> But as they say, there is always (always) room for one more ship... OK, no-one says that, but it's true!
> 
> This fic was inspired by my own dealings with a bag of chips and burning lips… enjoy!

“Do these taste funny to you?”

Bruce inhaled sharply through his nose, the only sign he gave at hearing Clark’s words. Ignoring the proffered bag of potato chips, he kept working. Clark would get the hint, he usually did. Bruce was not one for idle chit-chat in the cave. Nor anywhere else really.

“Hmmm, I absolutely think they have more zing than usual. More vinegar maybe, sure you don't want some - ”

The sound of crunching by his left ear had Bruce wincing with each new mouthful of the offending chips, the nasal assault of salt and vinegar also unwelcome. Almost as unwelcome as Clark pressing against his side, holding the open bag towards him again.

“I’m good.” His tone clipped, not even looking towards his team mate as he jumped up from his seat to grab the picture he'd left on the printer. Moving a respectable distance away certainly didn't have anything to do with escaping the heat of Clark's body. The other side of the cave was still too close for Bruce’s liking.

Eye contact with Clark was not advisable when Bruce had his mask off. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting the art of indifference, of sneering, of showing a blank canvas. One minute looking into Clark's deep blue eyes then at his salt encrusted lips and he was certain his primal need to claim the reporter would be plastered all over his carefully constructed expression.

Bruce sat back down, frowning at the blurry picture, then at the screen, something wasn't right with his printer settings.

“Whatcha working on? Is that last night’s street cam’s of downtown?” Clark now leant his hip against the large desk Bruce had set up in the cave, tens of computer screens showing the hot-spots of Gotham above it - it was a long, thick and sturdy desk. So of course Clark decided to place his hip right next to Bruce’s keyboard, his tan trousers pulling tight across his crotch.

And lord, Bruce was only human, with a new size kink which just crept up on him in the last ten seconds. Clark _had_ to be wearing padding, _for fucks sake_ -

“- seriously these are amazing, they’re only ALDI - but, they taste like they have chili in them. My lips are prickling - you know, in a good way.”

Bruce resisted the urge to palm his face and wish for an end to this torture. He rewound the same street scene he’d been trying to concentrate on since Clark flew in fifteen minutes earlier, still missing the moment the shadowy figure hugging the street frontage slipped into the Pharmacy. The bag of chips waggled near him. He stood up, walking over to pour himself a water from the jug Alfred had bought down earlier.

As the rustle of aluminium foil sounded once more, because of course Clark followed him, Bruce gritted his teeth and gave a curt shake of his head. Did he not understand the concept of personal space?

Seriously, for someone as intelligent as Clark he was also completely obtuse when it came to social cues. Like right now, Bruce was clearly tense and unresponsive, not that Clark would know why, but he should have realised and backed off. _Huh_ -

Okay, Bruce was like this all the time, so why would Clark behave any differently towards him. It was actually one of the things he liked about Clark. Although Bruce was as prickly as they came, something he needed to work on, (but resolutely refused to) it was much easier being surly, unlikable and unaccountable, Clark seemed to overlook this. Clark stayed, even if Bruce didn’t say a word the entire time they were together, which sometimes crept into hours if not days on one occasion. At first Bruce ignored the Kryptonian, not even deigning to answer questions asked, hoping to deter the visits. He wasn’t sure why Clark kept coming back and why Alfred kept letting him in. To piss Bruce off, he figured. Except to his surprise, it didn’t.

Over the course of the next year, Bruce became almost dependant on Clark’s refusal to be quiet when he needed to work. Well as close as dependant that Bruce Wayne - _Batman_ could get. Which to be honest wasn’t very much. But Clark was in that 1% of people he didn’t march out the door immediately.

‘Wonders will never cease’ Alfred exclaimed the third time Clark had emerged from the depths of the cave with Bruce in tow, empty coffee cup in his hand nattering about a tractor his mum needed to replace. (Funny that Martha won a new one at the local town fair later in the month).

“Bruce, I may be having an allergic reaction, I’ve never felt tingles like this before - my lips feel huge.”

“Is one of the ingredients Kryptonite?” He asked, finally back at his seat and managing to get a decent screenshot of the figure stealing into the shop. The rustling continued for a moment.

“No.”

“Then you’re not.”

He enhanced the shot he’d captured, ignoring every fibre in his being which screamed at him to look at Clark’s swollen and salty lips. He would not. He could not. It would be the death of him. Death by chips and lips. Fucking hell, he was losing it. He rang Alfred to bring down a fresh pot of coffee.

“I’ll have a milk if it’s not too much trouble,” Clark called into the com speaker.

“No trouble at all, Master Clark,” Alfred's respectful voice intoned.

“Milk?”

“For the burn. Seriously, it’s weird, what if one of these numbered preservatives is Kryptonite?”

Bruce thrust an arm out, grabbing a handful of chips, shoving them in his mouth with no preamble. “It’s not.”

The small burst of laughter from Clark went straight to his gut.

Interestingly, the chips _were_ relatively hot and tingly, not to the degree Clark was banging on about, but enough for Bruce to pause a moment and consider that maybe certain earthly products could potentially have effects on Superman’s physiology. He halted his thoughts there. He had no intention of letting them roam free to think about other pursuits which may or may not have an effect on Clark’s skin. What the fuck did he just finish thinking? Licking anything from Clark's washboard stomach in the name of science was not going to catch this drug thief.

Thankfully Alfreds timely descent into the cave halted the urge to spin the chair and pull Clark down to his lap and lick the salt from the inside of his mouth. Though that might actually shut him up for a moment. Bruce shifted in his seat, his pants feeling fuller. The intent was to deter, not foster.

“Master Bruce, I took the liberty of setting a place for Master Clark for dinner.”

Bruce grunted.

“Very good, Sir.”

“Really, Alfred, it’s okay, I can head home and have leftover… Chinese takeout, I think. From last week…”

“It’s been decided Master Clark, I’ll call down when it’s ready.”

Bruce looked at Alfred quickly, “anyone else?”

“No, Sir. All the other children are either on patrol or out tonight.”

He grumbled under his breath, knowing he was acting odder than usual. Also slightly put out that Alfred still lumped him in with the ‘other children'.

He was concerned about being alone in the dining hall with Clark, sharing a wine over dinner, talking about mundane things, _well_ Clark talking about mundane things. Bruce was always on point with new trends and topics, his conversation never borderlined on the redundant, would his usual 'Bruce' topics interest Clark though? He was being ridiculous, did it really matter? But could he spend the night with Clark, not having his work, his screens to hide in front of? Especially not when his thoughts for the past hour had been on kissing Clark senseless.

“Thanks, Alfred.” Clarks voice holding a pleased, if not smug note. What was that about?

Bruce sent the file with a photo of the thief and information to Gordon. This particular criminal didn’t require his level of expertise, the Gotham PD could do it. Bruce was slowly but surely letting others take care of his city. As much as he didn’t want to cut the apron strings, it was time to let others help. Especially since a lot of his focus now sat with the JLA - and the man standing once again way too close.

“I literally can’t stop eating these.” Clark smushed more chips into his mouth before suddenly leaning forward directly into Bruce's space to grab the mouse to zoom in on one particular screen. He leant back to avoid contact. He wasn't sure he wouldn't pull Clark towards him, his instincts jumbled. Christ he loved the natural wave in Clarks hair… _focus, you idiot_.

“Is that Damien, flipping a bird at the camera?”

Attention now on the screen, he pinched his nose between a thumb and forefinger and nodded. He would have to have another word to Damien about his attitude. He knew words no matter how serious, were not going to have any effect though. Teenagers. He pitied parents all over the world. Though it seemed hormones were something which travelled through life with you, rearing their ugly head at inopportune moments. Like smelling the salty and vinegar tinged breath of Superman. When did he get so close?

“Well, he certainly has spirit, I give him that.” Clark finally gave Bruce room to breath by moving back three millimetres. “I really _can_ go home if you want?”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Fine would entail being able to look at Clark. Bruce couldn’t. He grabbed another handful of chips just to do something with them and his mouth which didn’t involve disrobing Clark. The tang hit his tongue and he shut his eyes a moment. They really were good. Maybe he'd get Alfred to buy a few emergency packs.

Then he heard it. A wet suckling, followed by a very distinct _pop_. Fuck his life.

Clark’s fingers disappeared one by one behind full pink lips, as he licked them clean of salt and chip particles. Apparently the gods had failed to listen to any of Bruce’s thoughts and prayers.

The worst part, when Bruce turned his head, something he knew he shouldn’t have done, it was to find Clark's heavy gaze on his. Was this man intentionally pushing every button he possessed?

Another long finger dipped into Clark’s mouth, well on its way to being sucked clean, and he grinned, “seriously, they are so good.”

The growl which formed in Bruce’s gut only just tampered down before it escaped. He averted his gaze, the delicious sounds of Clark lapping his fingers driving him to the edge of insanity. He stared unseeing at the video feeds before him, imagining those fingers vanishing into a different kind of hot, wet heat.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

Bruce was out of his chair in one second and had Clark pushed up against the desk in another. Chest to chest, bright blue eyes widened in shock as Bruce leant in dangerously. His heart almost burst from his chest. He should feel shame, knowing Clark would be able to hear the uncontrollable thumping, but he just did not care.

Grasping Clark’s hand he bought it up towards his lips, slowly slipping a finger into the warmth of his mouth. Bruce allowed a moment of pure lust wash over him at having Superman in this position, judging by the twitch of Clark's hand, he was just as affected as him. He tried to remember how long he'd wanted to taste Clark - weeks, months, years.

Bruce let his tongue be curious, gave it free reign to tickle, lick and stroke where it wanted, which not surprisingly was everywhere it could reach. Christ, what he was going to discover if he got Clark naked.

 _If_ , he meant _when_ -

Clark’s body shuddered against him, eyes fluttering closed while Bruce’s tongue continued to swirl, teasing the last remnants of salt away.

Fucking hell, he had Superman’s finger in his body. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, as reckless, as perfect.

He sucked harder, then released the digit with an obscene pop. Clark bit his bottom lip, and wasn't that something he thought he'd never find a turn on. Bruce arched an eyebrow, a blatant invitation if ever there was one. Clark's body quivered, he felt a smirk full of promises form.

Hooded eyes blown wide, flicked between Bruce's gaze and mouth, before steadily meeting his with need, want and hesitation, “Br..Bruce… wha — ?”

Bruce cut off the breathy sentence with his lips, showing Clark what he couldn't put into words.

Clark's lips were infinitely softer than Bruce expected, the hardness and unforgiving lines of Superman's invulnerable form belied the sweet almost reverent way his hands came up to cup Bruce's face. Then all pretense of gentile behaviour was thrown out the window.

Grabbing Clark's hips, he angled to press his hardness against him, the sharp gasp from the pressure all Bruce needed to push further forward. Tongues met wildly, Bruce grinned against Clark's lips at their desperate game of dominance. For the first time in his life, he would be completely fine if he lost. Something deep inside of him, a part he kept buried under multiple layers of brawn and strength, craved to be taken apart by the infinitely stronger man. To be at his mercy. To obey.

Clark's softly curled hair was like silk as he carded his fingers through the strands, before tugging like he'd fantasized, feeling the man give a little. Then his lips found Clark's neck, inch upon inch of alabaster pale skin for the taking. And Bruce did just that.

Fuck, he was going to come in his pants like a teenager.

Small incoherent sounds rumbled up Clark's throat, and Bruce captured his slightly swollen lips to stop them before they escaped. Clark's arms wrapped around Bruce, pulling him closer. He allowed the contact, not sure he had the strength left to play indifferent and hard to get.

“Dinner is served, Sirs.”

Bruce sighed, the interruption not so unwelcome as he was losing his head. Taking Clark on his desk right now, although that was a definite for the future, was not part of Bruce's master plan for wooing his friend right now.

Pulling away from Clark's deliciously plump lips was akin to losing something precious. Not ready to quite give it up just yet, he rested his forehead against Clark's, eyes shut to hide what he knew was too much to process let alone having Clark decipher what he thought it could mean.

“I never thought you'd kiss me, let alone kiss me like that.”

Clark's quiet confession tugged at something deep in Bruce. He couldn't bring himself to agree, even though he wholeheartedly did. He captured Clark's mouth once more for a chaste peck.

“It was the chips.”

Clark's deep chuckle a salve Bruce hadn't been aware he'd craved.

“Told you they were delicious.”

“Yes you are.” Bruce quipped, enjoying the shock along with Clark's dawning realisation that he meant it.

“Master Bruce? Master Clark?”

Bruce stepped back, adjusting himself in his pants. He didn't want to scare poor Alfred after all, even though certain his oldest confident had seen much worse over the years.

Looking up to see if Clark was following, his breath caught at the disheveled unmoving man. His brunette hair stuck up haphazardly in an adorable manner, lips red and puffy, eyes glazed.

“Clark?”

He blinked twice before focusing on Bruce with a disjointed hum. Did he break Superman?

Bruce tried again, “I'm sure we have a bag of chips in the pantry, dessert maybe?”

Clark's sudden smile, blinding him in its sincerity. It soon turned cheeky lifting on one side, making Bruce's breath hitch in want. Would _he_ be able to wait until after dinner?

He would, Alfred would be terribly displeased if they blew off dinner to, well, blow off each other...

Bruce hid his own smile as Clark followed him from the cave chatting about Martha's obsession for her tractor. He on the other hand, was already making plans to buy out ALDI.

 


End file.
